by C. Greenwood
It was then the pain slammed into me. I was stunned as I took its strength into myself. Consumed by the agony that was now mine, I toppled backward to the ground. I gritted my teeth and arched my back.
“Ilan! Ilan, what is it?” I heard Terrac shout, but his voice filtered to me from a great distance and I couldn’t concentrate enough to form an answer. There was too much pain to leave space for anything else.
“Get help!” I grated.
Terrac looked desperate. “I can’t! I don’t know my way back to camp without you!”
I was scarcely aware of his words because I was blacking out. The instant my consciousness began to slip, I lost my hold on the pain. The agony flowed from me as if a dam had burst and reverted to its natural course, pouring back into the prone figure beside me. Garad cried out as it coursed through his body again, but selfish relief washed over me. I was terribly weakened and I sucked in air as if I couldn’t get enough of it, every fiber of me acutely aware of how wonderful it was to be free of the pain.
I grasped Tearrac’s wrist to stop his hopeless yelling for help. “Be quiet and help me up,” I said wearily.
He looked confused. “You’re all right now? But what happened to you?”
“Never mind, I’ll explain later. Just help me sit up.”
He assisted me and in a moment I was sitting upright. Beside us, the injured outlaw screamed again. I had no time to collect my strength as, staggered by weakness, I drew myself to my feet.
“What are you doing?” Terrac asked, steadying me.
“One of us has to fetch help. You don’t know the way, so that leaves me.”
“Do you think you can get there without collapsing?”
“Of course,” I lied. “I have no choice.”
“Then bring Javen. And Rideon. This man’s just holding on long enough to get his message to the Hand.”
“I’ll be quick,” I promised. I’d run myself to death if I had to.
Dredging up what energy I could, I pushed my way back toward Red Rock as speedily as my weak legs would carry me. Terrac, I quickly realized, could have run circles around me just now. But of course, his circles wouldn’t have been in the right direction.
I dragged myself onward until I reached camp. There, I discovered Javen wasn’t to be found and I could waste no time looking for him. As soon as I could gather breath, I explained the situation to a handful of the outlaws. Someone hunted down Rideon and we left the camp with a dozen or so of the band following my lead.
Garad was dead when we arrived. Terrac had drawn his eyes closed, but it did little to lend him an appearance of peace. His face was distorted in a snarl of agony, his mouth open in a frozen cry, and I felt a selfish sense of relief I had been too far away to witness the end.
Rideon dropped to a knee at the dead man’s side, asking Terrac, “Did he say anything more of what befell him?”
Expression drawn, Terrac glanced toward me and said, “His pain was too great to say much. He ranted through his screams, but I couldn’t make sense of most of it. He and several others were on an errand near Tinker’s Path when they were attacked, ambushed by a troop of Fists who knew enough to be sure where to lie in wait. An outlaw of yours, one called Resid, betrayed them. There were no other survivors.”
“I know that location,” one of our men spoke up. “Heard some of them earlier planning a trip to the traveler’s way huts. If you pop in there quick enough, you can scrounge around for supplies the travelers have left behind for the next folk what stops by.”
“Why did I never hear of these intentions?” Rideon demanded.
The outlaw scratched his shaggy beard. “I, uh, couldn’t say, Hand. I didn’t think it was nothing worth mentioning and I guess the others didn’t either. Anyway, I wasn’t in on the discussion myself. All I know is Mabias, Brig, and Spearneck were going, together with a handful of others. I guess Garad and Resid from Molehill were among them.”
My stomach lurched at the mention of Brig. Surely he was mistaken—Brig couldn’t have been among those slaughtered. The possibility was too shattering too accept. I struggled after a shred of hope, anything to hold onto. None escaped, according to Garad, I reminded myself, but hadn’t Garad been in such pain that even Terrac admitted half his words were senseless rantings? One other might still have survived—must have survived—I decided desperately. Brig was not a man to die easily.
Rideon carried on with his thoughts, apparently unconcerned with the fates of his men. “Resid,” he mused, “was a new member. What does he know? Everything?”
Kinsley stepped nearer. “He’s scarcely left Molehill, Hand. Never been to Red Rock and shouldn’t even know where it is. I keep the new ones in the dark until they’ve proven themselves trustworthy. The other men know that’s my rule and are usually pretty close-mouthed around new recruits.”
“All except a select few who invited him into their secret plans,” Rideon snapped. “How many others has he wheedled confidences from, sidling his way into their trust until they volunteered more information than they should?”
Kinsley said, “This is my fault for failing to search the new members carefully enough. I let a spy slip in among us.”
“You did,” Rideon agreed. “But there’ll be time for whining about your carelessness later. We’ve more immediate problems to hand. We’ve got to evacuate Molehill if it isn’t too late. Red Rock, too. I’ll take no chances on what Resid may or may not have discovered. We have to operate under the assumption the Fists and their spy now know as much about us as we do ourselves. There’s no saying how much time we have, so we must act quickly.”
He spun on Terrac. “When did this ambush occur?”
Terrac shrugged. “Garad didn’t say, but I imagine it must have taken a man in his condition a while to cover so much distance.”
Rideon said, “Then let us waste no time. It appears we have little enough of it. Kinsley and the rest of you, come with me. Except you, Cadon. I want you to run up to Molehill as quickly as you can run. Spread the word to evacuate to the part of the forest where the trees don’t green. We’ll meet up and form our plans there.”
I interrupted with the question no one else seemed concerned about. “But what of our missing men? What of Brig?”
Rideon continued giving out instructions as if I hadn’t spoken. Only Terrac looked at me with sympathy. “I think it’s too late for them, Ilan,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I said firmly. “Brig lives.” I refused to consider the alternative.
Terrac frowned. “Garad was dying. It’s unlikely he would have dared lie to a priest, even if he had some unfathomable cause to.”
I scarcely heard him. I was thinking that if I never saw Brig again, I’d never have the chance to mend our damaged friendship. All I wanted was a chance to explain myself to him, to return things to the way they once were between us. Suddenly, every sly act of disrespect, every insult I’d ever tossed at him, was a bitter memory to me, like a blade twisted deep in my gut. It would haunt me forever if I didn’t get the chance to take it all back.
Rideon had finished issuing orders and the others were dispersing to carry out his commands when I intercepted him, seizing the front of his jerkin and thrusting my face into his.
I said, “What are you going to do for Brig and the rest? You cannot mean to leave them to their fates.”
My captain looked down on me coldly. “Didn’t you hear the priest boy say they were dead? They’re beyond our aid. Now out of my way, hound. There’s important work to be carried out and little time in which to accomplish it.”
“But maybe they weren’t all killed. We have only Garad’s word on that! I won’t believe anything could have happened to Brig until I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”
Rideon shook me off impatiently. “Then you’re doomed to a lifetime of wondering. We’ve more immediate problems to occupy ourselves with than worrying about what happened to Brig. Like getting all our people out of Red Rock and Mole
hill before they meet the same fate as Garad here. Now, I know what you’re thinking, but I forbid you or anyone else to go running off after a corpse. We’ve the living to defend, so let’s move on and do what we can for those who aren’t beyond saving.”
I wouldn’t listen. “I’m telling you, I can bring Brig back. I can and I will!”
“And where do you expect to find him?” Rideon asked. “Do you think the Praetor’s men just leave the bodies of outlaws lying out on the roads for carrion? Do you never pay attention to anything that happens around you? No, the Fists bring their victims, alive or dead, to Selbius, where the crowds may witness the Praetor’s justice. Brig’s remains will be displayed on the city walls or hung up in the market square, alongside the rotting bones of anyone else who has ever dared to flout the Praetor’s rule.”
I stood stupidly, factoring this new information into my plans as he shoved past. I was scarcely aware of his leaving. What he said changed nothing. I needed to see for myself whether Brig was truly dead. And even if he were… I couldn’t allow his corpse to be dishonored in the way Rideon described. One way or another, I must save him, and next to this, Rideon’s orders meant little.
I said, “Terrac, how far to Selbius from the way huts on Tinker’s Path?”
Terrac must have been following my thinking, for he looked uneasy. “You know these woods better than I do.”
I said, “I think it’s about a half day, as the raven flies, but it’ll take longer for them.” There was no question as to who ‘they’ were. “They’ll follow the road and that’ll cost them time. There’d be no taking their horses straight through Heeflin’s Bog. And if I know Brig and the rest, I suspect the Fists will also have injured men of their own, which will slow them down further. But they’ve a good headstart on us so we’ve no time to waste. Come on, I’ll need your help.”
“No.”
The priest boy’s refusal drew me to a halt before I had gone three steps. I wasn’t much surprised by his response and had my argument prepared.
“Brig saved your life when you came here, nursed you back to health as much as I did,” I reminded him. “You can leave him to his fate now? Is that the kind of honor your old priests taught you?”
Terrac shook his head. “I know what you have in mind, Ilan. But there’s only the two of us against an unknown number of them. As a man of the robe, I cannot fight, even to save my life, so I’d be useless to you. I’m sorry for you and for Brig, truly, but Rideon has given his orders and for once I am in agreement with him.”
I was furious but could waste no more time attempting to argue him out of his cowardice. “I see. Well then, may your friends ever be as faithful to you.”
I turned my back on him and set off into the underbrush without another look. I sensed I had shamed him and he was undergoing some internal struggle, so it was no surprise when, after a short pause, he came running after me.
We kept silent as we strode together through the thick trees. I set a brisk pace and neither of us could afford to waste breath speaking. Every instinct within me screamed at me to run, to hasten to Brig’s side as quickly as my legs could speed me, but I restrained myself. We had a long distance to cover and there was no sense in spending all our strength this early.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It was mid-afternoon when we came upon the traveler’s way huts along the Tinker Path. It was easy to see the evidence of what happened in this place. The ground around the buildings was blood-soaked and churned with the prints of men and horses alike. There must have been a dozen or more Fists here, but I didn’t share that fact with Terrac. His resolve was weak enough.
Behind the way huts we found our men, or what was left of them. I saw Mabias, Spearneck, and a couple others I didn’t know as well. The Fists hadn’t troubled themselves with carrying the whole remains back to Selbius, but every corpse had been beheaded, the decapitated bodies left where they fell. I identified the dead mostly by clothing or distinctive markings on their bodies. Of the traitor, Resid, there was no sign and I could only assume he had ridden away with the Fists.
Resid was not the only man missing. My heart climbed back out of my throat as I realized Brig was not among the dead. I searched the sheds and the surrounding area, thinking he might have crawled, injured, a short distance, but all I found was his bone-handled hunting knife lying behind one of the sheds. My search here done, I slipped the knife into my belt and hurried a protesting Terrac off the road.
Much as I regretted the necessity, we had to leave the rest of our men where they lay. There wasn’t time to deal with any kind of burial. I still had no way of knowing whether it was a live prisoner or a cold corpse I was chasing after, but as long as there was any hope for Brig, I couldn’t give up. We pushed on through the wood, making for the shortcut through Heeflin’s Bog. I had to catch the Fists before Selbius. Once Brig was within the city walls there would be little chance of getting him back.
***
We were weary and wet to the waist from our trudge through the bog when we came again onto the path the Fists took to Selbius. I was as dejected as I was exhausted, for I knew too much time had been wasted in the crossing of the marsh, and I feared we couldn’t hope to catch our quarry, let alone cut them off before they reached this point. But I wouldn’t admit this to Terrac, nor would I give in to his continual requests to turn back. We pushed on, following in the tracks of the company that had already passed this way.
It was past sundown when we approached a cluster of buildings looming ahead, out of the darkness. We were still within Dimming’s borders, but only just, and I recognized the ramshackle buildings set a little aside from the road as one of the abandoned woods folk farms. Thunder rumbled overhead and a few cold sprinkles began to fall as the holding came into view.
The last of the Fist’s tracks were being washed from the road but not before I saw their horses had turned off the way, veering into the direction of the abandoned hold buildings. I caught the dim glow of light filtering out the shuttered windows of the hold house and felt a surge of hope. If the Fists had stopped here to take shelter from the storm…
Terrac was less pleased than I to have caught up to our enemies, but I wouldn’t hear his warnings. I struck off for the hold buildings and he reluctantly followed. I shushed his protests as we neared and we made several careful, silent circuits around the property, wary of sentries. When I was satisfied our enemies were oblivious to our approach, we crept closer. The rain and the dark were our allies, shielding us from unfriendly eyes.
We moved in as near as we dared, then dropped to our bellies in a little stand of weeds on a gentle rise overlooking the hold house. My heart was beating fast and I expected discovery at any moment. Terrac parted the grasses and peered ahead. Seconds passed before I felt him stiffen beside me.
He said, “There’s a man circling the outer sheds. He doesn’t stop to look around, just keeps his head down and moves with purpose. Nothing else stirs.”
“Is he one of the Praetor’s men?” I whispered.
“Now how can I know that?”
I craned my neck, but Terrac was slightly ahead of me and I couldn’t see past him without the commotion of rearranging myself.
I said, “Does he look like a fighting man? Is he armed? Outfitted in the Praetor’s colors? A Fist would have a bear’s head worked into his breastplate.”
“At this distance do you think I can see a breastplate, let alone a bear’s head on it? It’s too dark even to make out his colors. Besides, he’s gone now, disappeared into the barn.”
I sighed and risked repositioning myself for a clearer view. My movements made the tall grass rustle and I hoped no one was near enough to notice. I now had a good look at the hold house and its dilapidated outbuildings. I could see no movement below. No men, no sign of horses. The only evidence anyone was down there at all was Terrac’s claim to have seen someone—that and the spill of light issuing from the open doorway and windows.
I located the barn, a
n old leaning structure beyond the house. I waited and was at length rewarded when a lone figure wandered out its doors. I couldn’t make out any particulars about him. I followed his progress as he ducked his head against the falling rain and hastened to the dry shelter of the hold house. Not a sentry, then, just a man checking on his horse. For a moment he was outlined in the doorway as he stepped into the house and I caught the glint of light falling across the steel at his hip and a quick glimpse of black leather over scarlet.
“A Praetor’s man, all right,” I whispered to Terrac. “There must be more of them inside the house or in the outbuildings.”
A plan began to take shape in my head as I scanned the shadowy rooftops.
“And how are we to discover whether Brig is with them?” Terrac asked.
I pushed aside my qualms. I would do whatever I must to get Brig back, and if that meant using Terrac as unwitting bait, so be it.
I said, “I see no sign of a watch, meaning either they haven’t set any or their sentries are too well hidden to be seen. The first, I think, for I’ve pretty good night vision and I can’t make out anyone hiding in the shadows.” I tried to sound confident because I didn’t want him turning tail right when I had use for him. “But we won’t risk everything on that supposition. We’ll go down just as if there were lookouts.”
Here was where I must slip in the crucial point and pray I could convince him of it. “You’ll go first,” I said. “One is less conspicuous than two. Slip down to the house and try to get close enough for a look in the windows. Don’t come back until you can tell me how many Fists there are and if Brig is among them. I think it would be best if I wait here for you.”
